A Day Late
by Hikako
Summary: Chaos Theory says that if a butterfly flaps it's wings in China, there's a storm off California. How different would the world of Ice and Fire be if one small change happened?
1. Chapter 1 - Various

AN: First a little clarification of the timeline, there really is only one major change, the rest are all cascading changes from it. Tywin Lannister never sacked King's Landing - if the Lannister forces had been a day or so late then Ned would've gotten there first which meant he would have had to lay siege to the capital and finally the Red Keep. Everything changed from that point on - think ripples on a pond. Also, everyone's about 3-5 years older in this version. I own neither books nor TV show.

A Day Late

By Hikako

Ned Stark's footfalls echoed up and down the empty throne room as he and his vanguard approached the raised dais that supported the Iron Throne. His gaze and gait were both steady as he took in the scene before him, the single knight armored in pristine white enameled armor with his naked bloody steel in his hand as the body of Aerys the Second of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, lay in a congealing pool of his own blood a few steps behind him. The king's emaciated face looked like nothing more than thin dried leather stretched across a skull with large dark circles under both of his heavily sunken eye sockets, yet it still looked slack with the eyes showing a look of shock or bewildering amazement with his mouth opened wide and tongue rolling out like some horrible red slug. Some of his hair had soaked up the blood, turning his sickly yellowish white hair into a dark brown, and already flies were congregating around his body, brought on by the stench of his unwashed flesh and released bowels.

Behind that grisly scene, seated on a small throne normally reserved for queens or heirs, Princess Elia Martell sat clutching her infant son in her arms, a stoic mask and rigid regal posture proclaiming she feared neither Stark nor Lannister. She was dressed in the colors of her house, her gown a mix of orange and yellow with splashes of red, but her infant was swaddled in blackest silk trimmed with red, proclaiming his parentage. Her lustrous black hair was done in a tangle of curls with a jeweled tiara that cascaded across her pale shoulders, her pallid color looking more from her failing health than any fear of enemies or disgust at nearby corpses. Her young daughter, Princess Rhaenys, stood just to her right on the opposite side of her dead good father who, though young, was maintaining a matching look of reservation. She too, like her brother, wore a black silk gown with dragons embroidered in red thread and garnets, and her hair was like her mother's bedecked and pulled away from her face. The only thing that gave away how truly scared the young princess was how tightly she clung to the black kitten in her arms, a mirror image of her mother seated next to her.

Ned and his soldiers stopped about ten feet short of the massacred monarch; their weapons bare as well, and stared down the youngest member of the Kingsguard, Ser Jaime Lannister. Taking in the whole scene with his sharp gray eyes Ned searched the face of the man standing before him, the resolute look upon his face and tight grip upon his sword looking for all the world like an actually lion, coiled and ready to pounce on any enemy.

"Lord Stark." the young Lannister coldly said in greeting, his tone betraying nothing.

Ned's eyes never left Jamie's face as he pointed an accusing finger at the rotting king and replied, "The king is dead, Kingsguard. Who has slain the king?" The words echoed across the still air of the throne room, against the marbled columns and the skulls of dragons, and over the heads of the assembled warriors. Somewhere in the back of the Great Hall someone half-shouted "Kingslayer." Followed by a reply from the opposite side of the hall, "Oathbreaker."

Jamie stared right back into Ned's eyes, proud green into sober gray, seemingly to spit his defiance back at the Northern lord. The silence was deafening as well as damning. Far off in the distance Ned could hear crashing and screams as his army moved throughout King's Landing, securing every post of the City Watch. They were also looting, Ned knew, and as much as he might wish to order them not to Ned knew he couldn't stop them. These men had come across half the kingdom, fighting tooth-and-nail to secure this victory, and nothing short of the gods themselves would stop the sacking of King's Landing. Ned gaze drifted to the royal family and back to the knight, before he took one small step forward, while saying "Is it your inten-"

"Take one more step towards the princesses and your blood will join your father's and brother's in the mortar!" The warning cut through the room like a whip as Jamie crouched lower and brought the point of his sword up, leveled at Eddard Stark. Ironically, Ned noted, the blood on the steel trickled off the razor's edge, blood from the king. "The first rebel who seeks to lay a hand on the royal family will find himself missing a hand."

"Bold words, boy." Ethan Glover said, sneering at the white knight. "Plan to chop off your own."

Jamie's look at the young man, who was of an age with him, was equally condescending, but when he spoke his voice betrayed himself with its coldness. "I kept my oath."

 _There's more here than we know_ , Ned thought to himself, _but what we'll never know_. Unless...

"Everyone out."

The order was more unnerving for its spontaneity then for what it meant. Still the veterans, hardened by battles fought across the Seven Kingdoms, were nothing if not obedient and they soon filed out, though neither orderly nor quickly, casting weary glances both at their lord and his opponent.

When the two warriors finally stood alone, facing one another with bared steel, Ned relaxed his shoulders and slowly lifted his blade, only to then turn the tip and ease it into the scabbard at his side. Standing before the knight, his sword sheathed, Ned Stark spread his gloved hands showing the palms in a silent questioning act of truce. After several long moments so too did Jamie relax and almost lazily sheathed his sword as well.

"You stand but a few feet from the dead man you swore to lay down your life for, the man you yourself murdered in cold blood," his tone was accusatory and for that Ned was neither sorry nor capable of controlling it, "and you dare say you kept your oath?"

Jamie's brows knitted as a flash of hurt came across his face, no doubt if Arthur were here the perfect knight would've known what to do and say, but Jamie could do nothing but look at that stern disapproving face and see Dayne's. If Arthur and Jamie had exchanged places, Jamie had no doubt he would've held his oath and found a way to stop the city from going up in flames. Jamie however, he realized as he squared his shoulders, was not Arthur.

"Six months ago, I stood outside a door in this very castle," Jamie began his tone even and controlled, "and I listened to a man raping his wife. She cried out for help, begged, pleaded for mercy, but still I stood there. I asked my brother in arms if we weren't sworn to protect her as well as him, his reply was yes but not _from_ him." Jaime lowered his head and kicked the tip of his boot towards the rotting corpse. "'Let him king over ash and bone.' That's what he said, even though it meant killing his grandson, his son's own heir." Jaime looked at Ned square in the face and said, "He couldn't stand knowing that the last dragon was dead. He couldn't pretend anymore, and his mind broke. He was dead as soon as Robert killed Rhaegar, not even I could've stopped that: so the royal line, the next king and the one after that became my charge." Jaime straightened his shoulders and stuck out his jaw defiantly, let the honorable Stark do what he would with that.

Silence was his answer. It seemed impossible for such a space as the throne room to fill up, but the silence filled it until it became oppressive. A red glow, either from the setting sun or burning houses Jaime couldn't tell, filled the glass windows. Ned's eyes stayed on Jaime's face, though they did flick to the princesses several times, and his furrowed brow deepened every second. Finally, Ned raised his head and said, "We received word the queen and young prince were sent to Dragonstone... there are more ships in the harbor."

Ned inclined his head to Princess Elia before continuing. "If Your Grace would like a ship can be made ready for departure to Dragonstone... Or if you prefer, one ready for a trip south to Sunspear. I'm sure Prince Doran would be more than happy to welcome his long-absent sister." The porcelain doll of the Martells stood slowly; carefully cradling her child in her arms, and gave Ned Stark a long even look before she answered.

"As Queen Regent, I feel it would be appropriate if my son, the King, were to travel to Dragonstone... the ancestral seat of his house."

The next few days passed quickly, Ned had Aerys' body burnt upon a great pyre in the middle of the courtyard; though he tried to do it with some dignity, the man was a king after all. Just before dusk the following day another army, this one swaddled in crimson, arrived at the city gates and Ned sent a raven to Robert that the 'late Lord Lannister' had arrived. Despite Tywin proclamations of loyalty to Robert, and some fancy lies about wanting to be the first to pay homage to the new king, Ned kept the Lannister army camped outside the walls of the city. Tywin thought he must've been simple not to see his honeyed words for the lies they were. Tywin had hoped to arrive first and sack the city to back up his claims of loyalty. As far as Ned could see he was just a cowardly lion that refused to poke his head out until he knew who would win. The kingslaying son was more honorable than the father, Ned mused.

After his men had had their fill of plunder and rape, Ned set them to work clearing away the burned out buildings and keeping order on the streets. He had also sent some men north and east to outlying port towns, looking for ships, Jaime Lannister wasn't content with taking just one ship, he seemed to have commandeered all the ships in the harbor and sailed them to Dragonstone.

After several tiresome days of listening to Tywin Lannister protest his treatment, Ned decided to get some use out of the army by sending Tywin to collect the surrenders of Mace Tyrell and Paxter Redwyne; also effectively ending the siege of Storm's End. Ned figured Stannis could handle Tyrell and Redwyne; he could handle Lannister as well if need be.

At last Robert and Jon arrived, and with great pomp and ceremony Robert was crowned the first of his name and the first of the Baratheon dynasty. Although while the men feasted and drank, Robert raged: he was absolutely furious about Ned letting the Targaeryan children, or 'dragonspawn,' as he called them go.

In disgust at what his friend had suggested Ned have done with the children, Ned quit the capital and began marching his army home. Although he and a small party of friends did go south to collect his sister...

...

"I am so sorry, my love. Jon Arryn is dead."

Those ten words were like the start of an avalanche in the mountains, slowly building speed and power as it cascaded down the slopes, until it slammed full force into Ned Stark. Ned had felt as if he had been punched by Robert, it was almost literally staggering the way that his whole world seemed to immediately change. Jon had been as a father to Ned when he was younger and, though cruel events and harsh words had silently festered between them, Ned still cared deeply for the man.

"Jon..." Ned said, trying to keep the pleading out of both his voice and eyes as he looked at his wife. "Is this news certain?"

Catelyn Stark nodded and held out the parchment. "It was the king's seal, and the letter is in Robert's own hand. He says that Lord Arryn has steadily gotten worse the past few months," Cat soldiered on trying not to get caught up in the hurt she saw in Ned's eyes at the thought that neither foster father nor brother had informed the Lord of Winterfell Jon was sick at all. "He lingered at death's door for several days as he tried to conduct the King's business from his sickbed, he wouldn't even allow Lysa or the maesters to give him milk of the poppy to dull the pain. Finally Robert had to order him to rest... and Jon slipped away peacefully in his sleep."

"The man should've died years ago, with a sword in his hand." Ned said sadly but fiercely at the same time, "Not wasting away, swaddled in a feather bed." Though Cat could see the grief in his face his next thought was for her. "Your sister, Lysa," he said, "And Jon's boy. Any word of them?"

"The message only said that they were well, and had returned to the Eyrie." Cat said, "I wish they had gone to Riverrun instead. The Eyrie is high and lonely, and it was ever her husband's place not hers. Jon's memory will haunt every stone of the place. I know Lysa, she needs the help and support of friends and family in the hour of her grief."

"Your uncle is serving in the Vale, isn't he. I'd heard Jon had named him the Knight of the Gate."

"He is," Cat nodded, "And he will do what he can for her. That is some comfort at least..."

"Go to her," Ned urged, placing his hand upon her knee, "Take the children. Fill her halls with noise and shouts and laughter. That boy of hers needs children around him as well, and Lysa should not be alone in her grief."

"Would that I could." Cat said solemnly, "The letter had other tidings in it. The king is riding for Winterfell to seek you out."

It took Ned a moment to comprehend and when he did the darkness lifted from his eyes. "Robert is coming here?" Cat nodded and a smile graced his faced. Cat wished she could share in his joy, but dread was coiled within in her like a snake. It had been nearly three months since the day the men had returned from the execution with six direwolf pups for each child of House Stark, taken from the corpse of a dead mother with a stag's antler in her throat. Catelyn knew this day would come but she couldn't find it within her to say so to her husband, practical Ned Stark who took no heed of signs.

"We should send word to your brother on the Wall," she said, "Ben would want to be here."

"Aye," Ned replied, "I shall tell Maester Luwin to send his swiftest bird." Ned stood up and helped his wife to her feet. "Damnation, how many years has it been? And this is all the notice he gives us. Did the message say how many in his party?"

Ned exuberance was catching and Catelyn allowed herself a small smile as they walked arm in arm back to the castle. "I imagine it's a hundred knights at least, and all their retainers, along with half as many freeriders. A few ladies of the court might come along as well, maybe a few of their children."

"Robert will set an easy pace, for their sakes." Ned said, "Still it's just as well, gives us more time to prepare for his arrival."

"I'd imagine Tywin Lannister would take this opportunity to vie for Hand of the King." Cat replied, "He'll probably want to bring his children along, see if he can't secure a few alliances with marriages. I wonder if he'll let his daughter bring her bastards, Robert's sure to bring his."

Ned grimaced but tried to hide it from his wife, there was no love lost between Stark and Lannister. Tywin had called his banners too late and come to Robert's aid twenty years ago only when victory was assured and none of Robert's stalwart supporters had ever forgotten it. "Well, if the price of the King's company is an infestation of Lannisters and entertaining half the court then so be it."

"Where the King goes, the realm follows." Catelyn replied sagely.

Ned squeezed her hand, but couldn't keep the smile off his face. "There must be a feast, of course, with singers, and Robert will want to hunt. I shall send Jory south with an honor guard to meet them on the kingsroad and escort them back. Gods know how are we going to feed them all? On his way already you said? Damn the man, damn his royal hide!"

...

The day of the king's arrival all of Winterfell was abuzz with activity. Every servant, man-at-arms, and member of the Stark household was doing all they could in the hours before the king's arrival, every day chores and long overdue maintenance were seemingly performed at the same time and none in all of Winterfell were idle.

Except the four figures in the training yard.

Ser Gerold Hightower, known as the White Bull many years earlier but now simply as Gerry, stood as straight as a pike on the edges of the combat ring as the two combatants hammered at each other with blunted tourney swords. His face stony and unreadable, his deep-set eyes moved deliberately across the yard, watching each and every servant that walked back and forth with arms loaded with baskets and bushels, his hand sitting seemingly at ease on his sword's pommel. Next to him, sitting on a barrel and sharpening his own blade with a whetstone, was Oz who appeared at ease but was in fact just as watchful as his brother, his eyes hidden behind a curtain of mud-colored hair that was shocked with grey.

"Move your feet." commanded Artie, in a clear voice that could be heard all over the training yard, his opponent danced a few feet backwards before rushing forward hoping to use the extra momentum to deliver a crushing blow. Ser Arthur, though, quickly step-sided the blow and brought the flat of his sword down on his opponent's shoulders.

Jon Snow spent several breaths laying on the ground at Artie's feet before looking up at the Sword of the Morning and declaring, "I yield." in a voice that carried no emotion. Rolling over on his back, Jon clasped the offered forearm and helped to pull himself up. "You're usually a lot quicker, boy," Gerry remarked as Jon stripped off the protective gear and hung it on a nearby rack, "Are you unwell?"

"I'm just not in the mood today, Uncle Gerry." Jon said, trying not to sound petulant or moody, lest the great knights think him overly emotional. They had a habit of looking at each other in a knowing way whenever Jon acted or sounded like a dark cloud was sitting over his head, and Jon could almost hear their silent comments in his head. _How like his father he is. Truly he is Prince Rhaegar's son._

Jon hated it every time they did that, hated the reminders of his birth father, and his father's family's mad legacy. Jon much preferred the other moments; the moments when he out-rode and out-shot his cousins and protectors, the times Lord Eddard would give him a small smile and with a faraway look on his face wistfully say 'Your almost half a horse yourself.' Lord Eddard never sounded like that when he spoke to his own sons, in those moments he was Ned the middle brother of Brandon and Lyanna Stark. In those moments Jon wasn't the Last Prince, son of Rhaegar Targaryen, he was simply Jon, Lyanna's boy. How Jon wished he could've had Ned Stark for a father, even if it meant he was a bastard he would've preferred Ned to Rhaegar.

Although, he probably would've preferred not to have Lady Stark's ire brought down upon him. In all of Winterfell, in the entire kingdom, only six people in the entire world knew the secret of Jon. The bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark and a camp follower named Wylla, with his three uncles, living and working in the household of Winterfell. Not even Jon's cousins knew the truth, they all thought him their bastard half-brother. Arya called Gerry, Artie, and Oz her 'uncles' too, and Jon was happy to call her 'little sister,' while Rickon and Bran were as close to Jon as real brothers. Even Sansa hugged him and kissed his cheek when she found out Jon and Robb had severely thrashed Theon Greyjoy after he broke her heart. Catelyn Stark was always cautious to keep her distance from Jon, careful to not publicly be seen approving of a bastard, that simply would have raised more eyebrows than anything, but behind closed doors it was different.

Catelyn had been the one to raise Jon, taught him his letters right alongside Robb, and held him was he was feverish and sick, or nursing him back to health. Jon remembered when his tenth nameday when his uncle took him to the godswood and told him the truth of his parentage, Lady Stark had been there. She had dried Jon's tears, put her fingers under his chin and raised his head, and she had told him that he may not have their names, Jon still had their blood. He was just as much a Stark as he had always been, but now it was different because he also was a Targaryen, and that alone meant he had enemies. She had been a pillar for him that day, and Jon had been grateful beyond measure.

Still, Jon wondered what it would be like to be the bastard son of Ned Stark...

...

"Come on, Ned." Gendry yelled over his right shoulder, making sure he could be heard over the banner flapping in the wind over his other shoulder. "Last one to Winterfell has to share quarters with our sisters!" The royal bastards laughed at each as their horses trotted along the king's road, subtly racing each other although as foreriders they should've kept pace with one another, while the royal standards flowed over their shoulders. Edric Storm kicked his left leg out slightly, catching his half-brother in his calf, and laughed loudly when Gendry cursed him.

"You nicked me with your spur, Cloudy!" Gendry Waters cried as he swung his right arm wide, missing Ned's head by a mile, and moving his horse further to the right side of the road. "I meant to," called Ned, "Bull Shit!"

The two of them were known as King's Bastards, both of them illegitimate sons of their royal father Robert Baratheon. King Robert, despite being unmarried and having no legitimate children, was unwilling to pass his crown to any of his natural sons and so while he recognized them both as his children they themselves were not entitled to lands, titles, or crowns. Yet Robert was not without a sense of responsibility or duty... or rather he didn't want to listen to Jon Arryn nag him about responsibility, and so recognized each of his bastard children, as well as helped to provide for them.

Gendry was the oldest boy, born to his mother Melantha who was a blonde whore in King's Landing, and when the Hand of the King learned of his birth and Melantha's subsequent death Jon Arryn sent him to be fostered by Ser Alester Pyne, on Crackclaw Point, a liegeman of House Rykker who's ancient and impoverished line was set to end with Ser Pyne.

Ser Alester was a good, sturdy kind of man, a soldier through and through, who had fought dutifully and expertly on many battlefields from the Stepstones to the Trident and he had been determined to make Gendry a knight of equal skill. Unfortunately, after many years and seemingly endless patience Ser Alester declared Gendry would never be a true knight, although he did knight the boy.

"You're too rigid," Gendry remembered Ser Alester saying, "you're not riding the horse, you're sitting in the saddle." Ser Alester had taken Gendry longsword and lance and put them back on the weapons rack, then. "You keep looking to plant your feet and as bullheaded as you are you won't stop, you're an infantry man to your bone." Returning from the rack, Ser Alester handed Gendry a rectangular tower shield and a studded mace. Since that day, Gendry made Ser Alester beam with pride at every melee.

'Bullheaded' had been Ser Alester's favorite term for Gendry, and so when he was knighted Gendry took his oaken shield and had the three soldier pines on a yellow field of House Pyne paint on it, with a black bull beneath it. The old knight nodded and smiled approvingly at it the next day when he gave Gendry a newly forged spherical mace with jewel-like studs in it and a helm in the shape of a bull's head.

When he was sixteen, Gendry was sent by Ser Alester back to King's Landing to enter his father's service, and there Gendry met his half-brother Edric Storm. Ned, as everyone called him, had been born to a noble family and so been raised and armed in better fashion than Gendry. Also unlike Gendry, Ned was a true horseman who seemed to have born specifically to ride, even at his young age no other squires could match him in the lists. Edric Storm's mother was a noblewoman from House Florent, and their house was renowned for its knights, to honor both his parents young Edric had chosen a red stag crowned with blue flowers on ermine for his sigil even though he was barely 13 and had been knighted less than a month before.

Ned took one look at his older half-brother, in his bull helm, and smiled the cockiest smile any 13 year old ever smiled before decreeing Gendry's nickname was going to be 'Bull Shit.' Gendry, not the quickest wit, took what he could from Ned's surname of Storm and the white of his tunic and called him 'Cloudy'.

Gendry and Ned were inseparable.

In King's Landing Gendry also met his other siblings, Mya Stone and Bella Rivers. Mya was a tough tomboy, who was more at ease on the back of a horse or mule than in a gown. Mya had been in the service of House Arryn in the Vale before her father brought her to King's Landing, as a guide for visitors to the Eyrie, but in the capital she was forced to learn a lady's manners from a septa. Mya hated it, but as the oldest of the King's Bastards she saw it as her duty to set the example, and so became the governess for her younger half-sisters along with two septas. Mya often commented to Gendry, when she and the older siblings enjoyed dinner together, that she preferred to go back to the mules.

Bella was of an age with Gendry, and the first of his half-siblings to meet Gendry although that was an accident. Bella had come from Stoney Sept, where like Gendry's her mother had been a whore, and where before being summoned by their father to King's Landing Bella was employed as serving girl at the same brothel. Bella told Gendry once that if Robert hadn't summoned her she would probably still be in that same tavern. Bella had like Mya been taught how to be a lady, and had served many visiting noblewomen as a maid, but some traits bred true as Mya said.

Gendry had entered the royal stables looking to put his steed away after arriving from Crackclaw Point, a groomsman came up to him tying his britches. He took the reins from Gendry's horse and jerked his head towards the rear of the stables. "She's back there, lad." Gendry had been confused and had no idea who 'she' was, but headed to where he was directed. Along the way he encountered another groomsman, sweating and panting with his tunic untucked, 'Gods be with you, lad' was all the groomsman as he passed and pointed at the last stall. Confused and somewhat apprehensive Gendry entered the stall, only to be shoved roughly against the wall before having his head buried between Bella's large, soft, and very naked breasts. "Ooh, you're a big one!" Bella said, "Wanna fuck the daughter of a king?"

The last word shocked Gendry out of his stupor and his pushed her away. "No!" he exclaimed, "You're my sister!" The four siblings still laughed about it several years later.

Most of the younger King's Bastards were housed in the Red Keep and under the care of two septas and Mya. Mya, however unlike the septas, didn't stay overnight with them in the Keep. Instead she, Gendry, Edric, and Bella (when she wasn't serving some guest) stayed at lodger's house nearby. The foursome often broke their fast and ate supper together.

Today though, Gendry and his brother Ned were foreriders on the kingsroad. Behind came their father, the Kingsguard, half the royal court, and in the back of the baggage train Cersei Lannister rode in carriage attended by Bella, while Mya tended to Cersei's twin daughters... both of whom had black hair and blue eyes.


	2. Chapter 2 - Tyrion I

AN: I own neither the books nor TV show. Everyone's about 3-5 years older in this version or in Tyrion/Cersei's case 3-5 years younger, although I will try to keep it consistent be prepared to have people be whatever age I want them to be (LOL).

The first chapter had multiple points of view in several time periods (not to mention Gendry's being in the 'present' but thinking about the past, in the future I'll try to have one POV character in one time period per chapter - although I may bounce around so don't expect consistency there either. For example the next chapter I'm planning on it being Jaime right after Dany's birth.

A Day Late

By Hikako

Chapter Two - Tyrion (circa 299 after the Conquest)

Tyrion Lannister sat upon his grey rouncey atop a small hill, as the grand parade of nobles, knights, and baggage made its way along the kingsroad to his right. The little lordling had stopped for a few minutes to rest his horse and to take in the scope of their destination: Winterfell. Weeks he had been on the road with the royal court and this was the first sign of civilization since leaving Moat Cailin squatting amongst the bogs of the Neck with the exception of Castle Cerwyn and its surrounding villages. The grey granite rose up from the dark earth in double curtain walls that were almost taller than Casterly Rock, and nearly twice as long judging from what he could see. Behind those walls rose towers and a keep that was almost as big as Maegor's Holdfast, and to the east of those Tyrion saw the tops of oak, ash, pines, and the red leaves of a weirwood tree rise from the godswood, safely embraced in those walls. The entire fortress could be summed up in one word, in Tyrion's opinion.

"Impressive."

The word hung in the air for several seconds, until Tywin made a grunt of acknowledgment. Grudging acknowledgment Tyrion was sure, everything Tywin did that involved his son was done grudgingly. A few feet away and between Tyrion and the kingsroad, seated upon a fabulous white mare draped in crimson and gold was the Lion of the West and Master of Coin himself, Tywin Lannister. As always Tywin sat rigidly upon his horse, his back straight and his shoulders squared as he observed and kept a silent record in his head of all the wagons going past. Tyrion didn't know how many times Tywin had counted all of the supply wagons and baggage carts not to mention the carriages in the courtly procession, but he was sure the number had not changed from the last time he had done it a mere two hours earlier. Lord Tywin had done so nearly every day, as well as double checking every manifest of what was in each of the wagons and how much, as well as keeping a count of the cost of provisions picked up along the way, Tywin was nothing if not diligent in his duties as Master of Coin.

"Do you want to simply start, or would you like me to ask?" Tyrion asked, he knew and had been dreading this conversation with his father but the closer they got to Winterfell the closer this unwanted exchange drew. Tyrion knew it would happen eventually, he knew the minute his father sent a servant to tell Tyrion to prepare the Lannister household for the journey and several week stay in the North. Lord Tywin never let an opportunity pass to... remind his children about the expectations he placed upon them.

"I asked you in King Landing's not to make japes the whole trip." Tywin replied, turning his attention from his count.

"That wasn't a jape, and this is the first time we've talked since the Twins." Tyrion defiantly shot back, the cold, even, glare that Tyrion had seen his entire life was his reply. The frigid winds blowing down from the North were warmer than Tywin Lannister's silence; at least they were warmer to Tyrion. Turning back to face Winterfell, Tyrion pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders that quickly slumped in defeat.

While the relationship between father and son had never been congenial, it had taken a severe turn the past year; Tyrion blamed it on his age. Despite being a grown man for many years Tyrion was never let out from under his father's thumb, Tywin Lannister keep an almost impossibly tight rein on him as if through sheer determination he was going to make Tyrion become a worthy heir. Tyrion didn't know how, since all his father ever seemed to do was glare at him, and the past year Tyrion had chafed under that rein. In the rare moments of when Tyrion was honest with himself though he knew what had changed, it had all changed that night when they had quarreled. The echoes of that most fateful fight still lingered after almost a full year between parent and child; there were times when Tyrion could swear he was still hearing them.

 _Because you're my son..._

"Be silent, and listen." Tywin ordered his youngest child, ignoring the fact they had both been quiet for several minutes while Tywin glared at Tyrion. "These Northerners are prickly, and the Starks even more so, about their honor. One ill-received joke or witticism is liable to find you on the wrong end of a duel. Keep your tongue behind your teeth or I'll have it removed. I will be attempting to further our position and standing with the Northern lords who come to greet the king, therefore I want you to be respectable at all times. _If_ I even let you be seen!" Kicking his heels into his mare sides Tywin rode forward and down the small hill moving briskly away from his son having apparently decided that the conversation was over.

 _He thinks he's so much more intelligent._ Tyrion thought as he watched his father ride off. _But it's obvious why he's brought us out here._ Tywin Lannister's duties as Master of Coin were not simply something that could be done from the back of a horse, any of the his officials could've come and kept track of Robert Baratheon's spending without the man holding the treasury's keys coming with. Tyrion knew that it would take nearly six months for the royal bureaucracy to recover from Tywin going on this little jaunt north. Not only that, but taxes and duties collected would find a healthy portion 'missing' without a watchful eye on the collectors, and as one of his father's Keepers of the Keys Tyrion could only shudder at the mountain of work that would be waiting for them when they returned to the capital. King's Landing was a cesspit of liars, thieves, and whores and the worst of them worked for the Master of Coin: Peter Baelish the King's Counter, and even if Tywin stamped down hard on Baelish's neck immediately after returning neither Tywin nor Tyrion could be sure some shady deals weren't going to slip past them. Baelish was more slippery than an eel coated in butter.

 _Father isn't concerned about the shady deals in King's Landing,_ Tyrion thought, _he's concerned about his own shady deals._ Tyrion knew for years Tywin had been trying desperately to find a marriage for both of his children but year after year came and went and no marriage could be found. Tywin really had no one else but himself to blame, although that wasn't going to stop him from trying to blame Tyrion. There had been plenty of petty lords and nobles willing to part with their daughters for a hefty pile of gold, but Tywin Lannister's pride wouldn't let him simply sell his son's hand in marriage. No, Tywin had to find a suitable lady of rank, and if he ever did find one Tywin couldn't approach the lady's father and make an offer, if the lord refused the gossip would get around that Lord Nobody from Nowhere had turned down the Lion of the West himself desperate to get rid of his ugly dwarf of a son. The laughter would echo up and down Blackwater Rush for weeks, and if there was one thing Tywin Lannister hated it was being laughed at. _I'm surprised Walder Frey let us pass without offering one of his chinless stoats._

 _Because you're a Lannister..._

Tyrion swore under his breath and turned his horse around, moving towards the slow moving wheelhouses at the center of the wagon train, in the most opulent and vulgar wheelhouse Tyrion knew he would find his sister, Cersei. If there was one person in the entire world who understood Tyrion's point of view, it would be Cersei.

Even if by some cruel turn of fate the gods blinded Tyrion, he was sure he would always be able to find his way to his sister, or at the very least to his nieces. Despite the wind that blew, all the trumpet blasts, and yells or shouts from the baggage train Tyrion was sure that the bickering and fighting coming from that wheelhouse could be heard on the Wall. Although as he approached and was able to decipher the words Tyrion was glad, most of the arguments eventually concluded soon after becoming a round of name saying.

"Rhaelle!" Cersei Lannister screeched at her eldest.

"Myrcella!" Rhaelle Hill shrieked in rage at her younger sibling.

"Mother!" Myrcella Hill howled in protest at Cersei.

"Tyrion!" Tyrion yelled as climbed up the steps into the wheelhouse, hastily closing the door to avoid gossip about the scene in front of him. Rhaelle Hill, her thick black hair seemingly raised like an angry cat's, sat on the far side of the wheelhouse with a headless doll in her right hand and her left fingers curving like an eagle's claw as she tried desperately to reach her twin sister Myrcella Hill on other side of the wheelhouse. Myrcella, whose hair looked like it had been pulled out an elaborate braid, had tears streaming down her face as she whipped the doll's head around like a mace with blonde hair. Between them, corralling them, and trying to avoid injuring themselves were the twins' nanny and half-sister Mya Stone and their mother Cersei, the lone golden mane lioness in the bunch.

"Is this how ladies of a great house behave?" Tyrion asked, now the center of attention as he sat on a cushioned bench facing the four women. "Rhaelle." Tyrion said quiet firmly in a tone that he knew would brook no argument, "Apologize to your sister for pulling her hair." Rhaelle's face, which already had been reddish from the fight, went redder as she screwed her face up, no doubt holding her breath in the way she did sometimes. "Myrcella, apologize to your sister for decapitating her doll." Myrcella's eyes went down cast as she tried to regain control of her angry sniffles. "And then both of you apologize to your mother for the things you've said." Tyrion honestly had no idea what had been said up to that point but he knew that both girls had a vicious streak when angry. Seemingly defeated both girls did as they were told and apologized, first to each other and then to their mother.

"Come on, loves. Let's take a walk around a bit, while the wheelhouse has stopped, and get a little air." Mya said as she regained control of her charges and ushered them into the fresh air. "If you go to the top of this hill you can see all of Winterfell." Tyrion supplied, hoping to get the girls to focus on something before the door closed and he was alone with his sister.

"I suppose you think it's just that easy." Cersei snapped, as she primly sat on the cushioned bench opposite of Tyrion. "You just waltz in and take control, how like a man!" Tyrion raised both his hands in surrender, effectively cutting off Cersei diatribe.

"I merely arrived at the end of the fight, I'm sure if I didn't you would handled it beautifully." Tyrion said, trying to make his voice seem like honeyed wine while smiling at his elder sibling, "You are an excellent mother."

Cersei sniffed and attempted to put her hair, jewelry, and clothes back into some semblance of neatness. With a half-smirk on her lips she peaked over her shoulder while she fixed her hair and said, "I'm a shit mother. They're both too stubborn, mean, and spoiled rotten." Sighing loudly as she gave up on her hair and turned to fixing her bodice, it had come slightly open and forced Tyrion to find something interesting to look at on the ceiling.

"Yes," Tyrion agreed, "Ours is the Fury, indeed."

"Did you and Father finally talk? I assume that's the reason you came to see me, it's the only time you want to spend time with me." Cersei asked, her tone taking on an edge. Tyrion knew all too well what was setting her on edge.

Tywin Lannister hadn't just spent twenty years attempting to marry Tyrion off; he had also tried and failed to do the same for Cersei. At first Tywin held out hope that Robert Baratheon would come to his senses or see all the benefits of marrying Cersei, but Ned Stark demanded to know why Tywin should be rewarded when he sat out the entire war while Starks had fought, bled, killed, and sacrificed for Robert's victory. Robert had agreed, although Tywin expected he'd acquiesce eventually, when that didn't happen after a few years Tywin started buying up the Crown's debt, making it a personal debt to himself. Tywin expected that once he was largest debtor of the Iron Throne that Jon Arryn and he would finally have the leverage to bend the King to their will. It probably would've worked, until about nine years ago when Cersei gave birth to the twins. Tywin was furious but that was nothing compared to how angry he was when Cersei refused to say who the father was, clearly the black-haired, blue-eyed girls were Baratheon but neither parent had claimed them to be so.

Although Tyrion suspected that bearing possibly the only unrecognized bastards of the king in all of the Seven Kingdoms might have made Cersei's prospect of matrimony even worse than Tyrion's. Robert Baratheon had no shortage of faults, and Tyrion could ramble a list of criticisms longer than his arm in short order, but one thing Robert was not was neglectful. Every single child born of his loins, or whose mother claimed he fathered the child, was recognized, cared for, and given the full patronage of the Iron Throne. The King's Bastards as they were known were given an education and provided with an opportunity to advance themselves in society. Cersei's children had effectively stopped Tywin from being able to marry her off to any respectable lord of the realm, despite his trying.

"I take it you been told to be 'respectable' and ordered to keep the girls out of sight?" Tyrion said, empathetically. He knew Cersei didn't care about her own honor, not since the war, but he knew of how fiercely she could defend her family. Once shortly after coming to court, a squire of Lord Fossoway had tripped Tyrion and kicked him when he was on the ground in front of a group of ladies. The next day Cersei tracked the boy down, seduced him into some bushes, and when his trousers were off tied his hands and blindfolded him. Tyrion couldn't stop himself from laughing when he saw the squire trudging along completely ignorant of his surroundings with his trousers around his ankles; the ladies who had laughed at Tyrion the day before were beside themselves with naughty giggles as they watched too. "I imagined you shared some words with him too." Tyrion added.

"I told him where he could stick his respectability and said if he wanted his granddaughters hidden away he shouldn't have dragged _me_ to this Northern wasteland." Cersei spat out, her ire clearly had not abated. Finished putting herself to rights Cersei moved to the bench Tyrion was on, sitting as close as possible before pulling him into her lap, crossing her wrists in front of him, and laying his head on her décolletage while she rested her cheek on his pale blonde hair.

Tyrion nodded sagely, "That explains the lovely mood he was in when he spoke to me." Tyrion said to his older sister's cleavage, and then in defeated tone of voice, "And I have repeatedly asked you to stop doing this. I am a grown man."

"Yes," Cersei said, her tone calm almost sleepy, "And I have repeatedly told you I don't care how old you are, you'll always be my monster. It comforts me that at least one member of the family won't ever leave me..." Cersei's tone became wistful before taking on a wicked edge. "Besides, you like staring down my bodice."

His sweet sister's laughter caused her breast to slap his cheek several times before Tyrion could squirm out of her arms. Red-faced Tyrion resumed his seat on the bench, trying to come up with something witty to fire back. When he didn't, Cersei's chuckles filled the wheelhouse.


	3. Chapter 3 - Jaime I

AN: Not a lot of dialogue in this one, just because Jaime always struck me as much more paying attention to what a person said then the words they used.

A Day Late

By Hikako

Chapter 3 - Jaime, 3 months after the Siege of King's Landing

The royal-court-in-exile on Dragonstone was a somber collection of lords, ladies, knights and squires, as the twin coffins of the queens were carried down to the beach. King Aegon fussed in the arms of his septa whenever a stray breeze brought cold mist off the Blackwater Bay and soaked the assembled mourners, the cool afternoon air with its gray skies and choppy seas seemed to add to the air of grim misery that permeated every pebble of Dragonstone, which made it a perfect day for a funeral. Many of the lords nodded their heads piously while they parrotted some lies about the infant king crying for his mother, but Jaime Lannister knew the truth was Aegon was cold, wet, and had soiled himself. No, this funeral wasn't for him or even his sister and uncle, no this mummer's farce was all for show, was all for them. They, the lordly exiles, who needed to be seen as tragic and grief-stricken before they eventually turned on the last of the Targaryens and begged Robert Baratheon for a pardon.

 _The first one to turn gets my sword in his back._ Jaime swore as he looked at them.

The slow, solemn procession made its way down the winding path that lead from the keep to the beach, the constant dampness made the stone steps leading down the cliff face treacherous and more than a few of the pompous sheep grasped handholds wherever they could, else a stray breeze was like to rip them down and add their bodies to those carried. At the bottom of the stairs, servants had gone ahead and built several small fires that marked a path to the large pyre, though the wind whisked the heat of the flames away so fast as to make them useless, as well as preventing the fires from growing to make any light given off by them equally useless.

The only figure on the beach not dressed in deepest black was himself, the lone Kingsguard who stood just behind the king, Princess Rhaenys, and Prince Viserys, all that remained of House Targaryen except for the youngest princess Daenerys still up in her nursery. It was too cold and wet for the princess to be on the beach, she was only a few days old, and even though Jaime protested vigorously against having the king there as well he had been overruled by Ser Willem Darry, the Hand of the King and Regent. The newborn princess could stay in the keep but King Aegon must be seen by the court, to show them that hope was not lost.

Darry's hope to show that hope was not lost had, in fact, been lost though. Jaime could see that plain as a summer's day on the face of nearly every knight there. They looked bored, miserable, and all it would take for them to break ranks and surrender to the fleet of Baratheon ships Jaime knew must be on the way would be one more piece of bad news. Try as they might Jaime and Willem couldn't keep the rumors from spreading, the larders were near empty and if Dragonstone were put under siege they would all starve in a matter of weeks. Which of course was a foregone conclusion; of course the Baratheons were on the way, of course they would lay siege to Dragonstone, Robert Baratheon in his mad wrath had all but decreed no Targaryens would live to see summer.

The twin coffins of the queens were raised up and placed upon the large pile of driftwood, and the assembled mourners clumped together closely either out of shared grief or a fruitless effort to stave off the chills. The septon of Dragonstone, Jaime had never bothered to learn his name, walked forward and raised both of his arms before in a droning voice the septon began reciting a prayer to the Seven. The man had the look of a lifelong lickspittle, Jaime decided, with his mealy little mouth and his high, nasally voice barely being heard over the wind. Jaime ignored him, and looked past the septon to the coffins on the pyre. One was marked with the Targaryen dragon, the other with a crude sun. _It's just salt spray_ Jaime thought as he felt the moisture roll down his face, _you're not crying and you're just imagining the wind as their screams. They're both at peace, they can't be hurt anymore. She's dead and Aerys will never hurt her again._

Two months ago they had landed at Dragonstone, Jaime, Elia, and the children along with hundreds of sailors and loyal troops, and every ship still afloat from Duskendale to Massey's Hook. Jaime had made sure that any ships worth of the name capable of carrying troops would either be scuttled or commandeered. He picked up as many refugees, noble or common, fleeing King's Landing as they could carry and he raided every warehouse for any goods or supplies, even picking the pockets of the poorest pauper for their pennies. The real treasures, Queen Mother Elia and King Aegon, never left Jaime's side though, not until he delivered them safely to the main audience hall of Dragonstone to Queen Rhaella herself. He had knelt there, on the dragon mosaic, in the center of the hall and presented his accounting of his crimes and actions to the Queen and the court-in-exile. Jaime remembered the way she looked that day, her tiny frame over shadowed greatly by the black stones behind her but the long silvery hair that hung down off her shoulders almost to the swell of her pregnant belly shone out like the sun. The queen always looked delicate, although she had a will of iron that few had ever seen or known, and it didn't help to alleviate that illusion that when she rose from the throne and walked forward to stand in front of Jaime she was barefoot and used the smallest steps she could, her pregnant belly threathening to overturn her at any moment. The assembly of nobles looked suspicious and angry with him, but Rhaella's eye were all Jaime saw. The gratitude Jaime saw there outshone even the harshest words that Queen spit at him in that mummer's farce.

Rhaella dressed him down, called him oathbreaker, kingslayer, a man without honor. She said he deserved a terrible and excruciating death for the betrayal of his king, and that his only saving grace was that he had brought the infant King Aegon here to his family. There was a bit of a political speech then about how the Targaryens would rise up and retake the throne. Then Rhaella appointed Ser Willem Darry the Hand of the King. Ser Willem strode forward then, while Queen Rhaella took a seat in the throne, Elia holding the King at her side, with Rhaenys next to them both. Ser Willem sentenced Jaime to a traitor's death, but suspended it on the condition that he never again break his word to House Targaryen or disobey an order ever again. The assembled nobles all did their bit with nodding and with the audience done they left with Ser Willem. Alone in the throne room with the royal family Jaime stood up and walked forward, only to kneel directly at Queen Rhaella's feet. Picking up one of them Jaime began to massage it gently but firmly. Rhaella's relief was evident in her voice when she gently laid a hand on her belly and said, "I was thinking Daeherys for a boy, but Daenerys for a girl."

 _I'll kill them all._ Jaime thought as he watched the flames rise higher and fully engulf both coffins. _I swear to you Elia, I swear to you Rhaella, I will kill every last person who tries to harm your children. I'll kill them all until only they and I remain alive._

The funeral ended and the black robes started to make their way back to the keep, and while his eyes were ever scanning the crowd and surronding area for threats Jaime's ears were picking through the chatter and idle gossip the exiled court half-whispered. They weren't even halfway to the keep when Jaime caught Ser Willem's eye and gave him a single nod, indicating that he was listening too. It was going to happen tonight, Jaime decided, it had to happen tonight. Jaime felt his heart beat a little faster, yet it wasn't fear or trepidation that surged through him. It was relief. Jaime was, above all, a man of action and sitting around a castle with nothing to do but plan and talk would drive him insane eventually. The young Lannister was at his best when he able to move with a clear purpose or goal, because once he had his eye on a goal or target he never stopped until he reached it.

As soon as the large oaken doors to the royal apartments had been shut, with a loud boom, Jaime began ordering the servants to action in crisp clear words in a tone that demanded obedience and no small amount of fear. The prince and older princess were pulled towards their rooms to be changed into warm, dry, clothes; Viserys protested at being handled by his septa and a maid but was silenced by a glare from Jaime and allowed himself to be led away meekly. The young boy was terrified of Jaime, not the least because Jaime had told him what had happened to his father and who had done it. That had been the most awkward conversation of Jaime's life: explaining to a boy of seven that his father was insane and had been murdered and that the one who had murdered him was Jaime and that Jaime was now the boy's protector the same way he had been protector to his father and Jaime was effectively his guardian too. Queen Elia had done all she could to smooth any rough patches while she was well enough but still even now Viserys practically pissed himself whenever Jaime raised his voice.

 _It's fine,_ Jaime thought, _it makes it easier to control him for now. I have to make sure he_ has _a future before I worry about how we're going to get along in the future._ The first thing Jaime knew he would need to do would be to teach the young prince how to be a man, how to be a warrior. Jaime had grown up a charmed existence, he knew that, his family's wealth had prevented much suffering and most things in his young life were simply handed to him on a gilded platter; Viserys would have no such luxury, if he had any luxury at all, the young prince would need to scrape and scratch and claw his way through life. He would never be able to stop, never be able to rest on his laurels, the world would never give Viserys Targaryen anything he would only have what he could take and what he could hold.

And the King. Jaime would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Ser Darry closely followed by Jaime went into the solar, where sat the Painted Table piled high with all the wealth House Targaryen had to it's name: 3 small chests of gold and one large jewelry box that held both Rhaella's and Elia's jewels. They had been prepared before hand and Darry ordered two porters to pick them up and follow him. "I'll take them down the hidden passageway to the docks, and make sure the ship is ready to get under way. I'll send a boy back with our code word to let you know it's safe." Darry said as he began to put scrolls and bundles of paper into a satchel, Jaime had been told that those were secret treaties and written oaths of support from wealthy families from Braavos to Volantis, not that Jaime could read any of them as they in High Valyrian. "How confident are you in your new brothers?" Darry asked, not looking up from his work.

 _My new brothers._ Jaime almost scoffed at that, so new Jaime would be hardpressed to remember all six of their names, these young men from upjumped families that owed everything to the Targaryens were not who Jaime would've preferred yet... "Loyalty trumps ability right now." Jaime said to Darry. Darry grunted and nodded his assent, before calling in the porters. The passageway opened next to the fireplace, a Targaryen family secret know only to those of royal blood, but now with the family in flight it hardly mattered if anyone else knew about it after tonight. Jaime watched Darry disappear with the porters, they would get to the docks where a ship crewed by loyal Targaryen sailors would be prepared. Hours went by and Jaime practically prowled the entryway to the royal apartments, his hand never far from his sword, while his six brothers stood at attention. Except for the simple white silk cloaks they wore at their backs there was nothing to distinguish them as Kingsguard. The day Jaime had administered their vows, given them their cloaks as well as a polished steel sword, Jaime told them he would try to make sure they got some painted armor, at least, one day.

Finally one of the porters appeared again, breathless from having run back he barely got out 'Pentos' before Ser Thomas Hardy nearly took his head off. Jaime caught Thomas's eye as he slid his sword back into its scabbard, while the terrified porter hurried to help the other royal servants, and gave him a nod. Tonight it was better to be safer than sorry.

The last of the servants, numbering about a dozen, had just disappearred down the passageway with most of the royal family and their belongings. Except for Prince Viserys and his septa, the young boy was so tired he simply wanted to go to bed and he didn't understand why he needed to be in his scratchy wool traveling clothes. The septa was doing her best, and not even Jaime could get Viserys to comply when the pounding on the apartment doors started. The three of them had been on the far end of the entryhall, opposite the great doors, in front of the doorway to the Painted Table, with the rest of the Kingsguard between the doors and them. Eight heads snapped to attention, even the prince got quiet then as if sensing that something was happening, and stared at the doors.

"Traitors!" came the cry from the other side, muted slightly by the thick oak, "traitors in the keep!" To his experienced ears, the next few sounds Jaime heard from behind those doors was definitely sounds of combat. In an instant Jaime reached down and picked up Viserys, who instinctively threw his arms around Jaime's neck, and he and the rest immediately went through the door to the solar.

"Marcus, Angus!" Thomas cried, "Get the table!" The three knights were the strongest and they proceeded to push the great table against the door, effectively barricading them in. They then drew their swords, and saluted Jaime and the others. "We'll stay and hold them back." Already there was pounding on the door, although this was a different kind made with a mailed fist, and followed by a cry of 'In the name of Robert Baratheon, open this door!'

Jaime immediately turned to the others, barely able to look over young Viserys's arm he hugged Jaime's neck so tightly, and pointed at the passageway, "Go!" he cried, and they began to flee into it. Before he disappeared into the darkness, Jaime whirled back around to his brothers and said, "You are true knights."

It didn't matter if it was true or not, Jaime knew, but they deserved to hear it all the same. As he and the prince began their descent Jaime ignored the moist feeling in his side that said Viserys had indeed pissed himself this time. At the same time though, Viserys whispered into the darkness with no small amount of awe in his young voice, "I want to be a knight..."


End file.
